Sleeping Arrangements
by Deezley
Summary: Harry x Zacharias Smith -- Simple little tale about two not so simple boys.


**Title:** "Sleeping Arrangements"

  
**Author: **  Dee (mombi_of_oz@livejournal.com)

**Pairing:**  Harry/Zacharias Smith

**Rating**:  R

**Disclaimer**:  This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes:**  This story was written for Squickyclean, in the hopes of getting some steamy porn, I do believe. Sorry to disappoint, love. Just remember, Zach is SO Tackey! :D Many thanks go out to Manu for the wonderful beta, and to Sophie who said she'd beta, but actually lied. Zach still loves Blaise, have no fear. Anyhow, this is the most normal story I think I've ever written, and I'm a bit embarrassed by it. So, be loving. 

Reviews appreciated!

* * *

"You're already in bed?"   
  
"What's it to you?" Zacharias snarled, his pink lips raising above his white teeth.  
  
"Nothing," Harry grumbled. There was one bed in the tiny room. ONE. And they had to share it. Well, Harry did have the option of sleeping on the floor, but the room was so small he thought he'd have to sleep with half of his body under the bed, anyway.   
  
The Weasleys, as usual, had invited Harry to stay the summer holiday with them, and Harry had rushed at the opportunity. Since Sirius' death, Harry had been very lonely, and though the Dursleys hadn't been nearly as harsh this summer, they were no more compassionate.   
  
"In his room again!" he had heard his uncle saying from beneath the floorboards. "Hasn't been out in a week, Petunia! Thinks he can just get away with sulking about just because one of his _freaky_ friends has died. Good riddance, I say!"   
  
He hadn't heard his aunt's reply, but he had been sure it had been something along the lines of, 'You're right, Vernon. Duddikins never acted this way when Great Aunt Daisy passed on.'  
  
Ron rang later that day, and luckily Harry managed to pick it up himself.   
  
"We're coming to get you, Harry!" Ron said chipperly. "You can hear me, right? Don't need me to talk any louder?"   
  
"Er, no, Ron. It's fine. When are you coming? I need to get out of here," Harry whispered back. He knew that at any moment Uncle Dursley might explode at him for being on the phone.  
  
"Today, I think, which is really rotten luck for you..." he trailed off and Harry could hear Ron's mum in the background. "Oh! We're coming right now! Get your things ready! We'll be there in thirty minutes. Bye!  
  
"How do you turn this thing off?" Harry could hear Ron mumble as he set down the receiver. He debated telling the Dursleys he was leaving, but decided it would be easier to just write them a note. He didn't suppose they would really mind at any rate. And, for once, things went smoothly with the Weasleys. Harry waited outside on the driveway with his suitcase, and they pulled up in a shiny black taxi. Only Ron and his mother were inside the taxi and, while Ron helped the driver load the trunk in, Harry was ambushed by Mrs Weasley.   
  
"How are you, dear? Hmm? You look so thin! And look at these circles under your eyes! Are you hungry? He looks hungry, Ron. Maybe we should stop at one of these muggle eateries? Would you like that, Harry dear?" She hugged him and pet his hair as she said all of this, and Harry could feel himself blushing a bit.   
  
"Mum! Let Harry breathe! Let's just get the stupid bint and go home!"   
  
Harry was finally released from Mrs Weasley's tight embrace and the three piled back into the cab. The cab took off with a clatter, and sped non-magically along.   
  
"Er, Ron?"   
  
"What?" Ron replied moodily. It seemed that Ron was not his usual self today. Normally the two of them would have traded stories of the past month, he would wish Harry a Happy Birthday and they'd spend the whole time laughing about something Fred and George had done, or some annoying rule Percy had given Ron about not trampling up the stairs. But everything was different now, Harry supposed. Fred and George weren't living at home, and the Weasleys didn't even speak to Percy anymore. Maybe that was why Ron seemed so upset.   
  
"Are you okay?" Harry asked.   
  
"Oh, he's fine!" Mrs Weasley said, rolling her eyes. "He's overreacting, Harry. Thinks the world is coming to an end just becau--"  
  
"I'm not overreacting! I'm under-reacting, if anything!" Ron crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the floor. "It's Smith."   
  
"What? Where?" Harry said, looking out the window.   
  
Mrs Weasley sighed. "No, Harry, Dear. Zacharias will be coming back to the Burrow for a week or two with us."   
  
Harry's eyes widened in horror. Not that he didn't like Smith-- but-- okay, he didn't really like Smith. The thought of having to spend a week in his company seemed more like punishment than anything. But he supposed even that was better than staying at the Dursley's. Surprisingly, Zacharias didn't live that far from Harry. About ten minutes away, in a small house pressed close to its neighbor.  
  
"Come on, boys," Mrs Weasley said, handing the driver a fist of coins, and not bothering to get the change. The driver didn't seem concerned with this, however, and drove off.   
  
"Uhm, Mrs Weasley," Harry said. "Don't we need to take that cab to the train station?"   
  
"No, dear. We're going to floo home. That's how we got here today."   
  
She knocked smartly at the door and a large woman with dirty blond hair answered. "Zach's almost ready," the woman said bluntly, and walked away leaving the door wide open. Mrs Weasley apparently took this as a sign to enter and stepped politely into their entrance way.   
  
"ZACH!" the large woman (Zacharias' mother, Harry presumed) called.  
  
"Coming," he heard Zacharias' voice call emotionlessly from upstairs. The tall blond boy walked almost dejectedly down the stairs, his face hidden behind a wisp of lank hair and a large rucksack clutched in his long hands. Harry swallowed.   
  
"Er, hey, Smith," Harry said, trying to make the best of the situation. All that Zacharias did in response was to grumble.   
  
"The boy said HELLO, Zach!" his mother screamed, "say hello back!"   
  
"Hi, Potter," he replied, his eyes still on the ground, "hi, Weasley, hello, Mrs Weasley."  
  
"Hello Zacharias," Mrs Weasley replied politely. She looked uncomfortable, and, by the way she kept eyeing the fireplace, Harry could tell she wanted to leave as soon as possible. Harry wondered how the two families even knew each other since Ron didn't appear to really know Smith until he joined the DA. "Well, we'd better be leaving. Have to start on dinner soon!"   
  
"It's only twelve o'clock," Zacharias said, still sounding very monotone and out of sorts.   
  
"Oh! Well... I've, I've decided to make a special dinner for the arrival of you and Harry!"   
  
"I don't eat meat," Zach replied bluntly.   
  
Harry could practically see steam about to shoot out of Mrs Smith's ears as he said this. A fire rose from behind her dark beady eyes and her face turned a horrid shade of red -- Harry was reminded distinctly of Uncle Vernon.   
  
"You will do as you are TOLD," she bellowed. "No more of this nonsense! You're damn lucky anyone will take you in, you little BRAT! How could you DARE be so rude?"   
  
At this Zacharias seemed to perk, his face finally lifting from the ground as he dropped his rucksack on the floor. His jaw set and his lips curled into a snarl, "Shut up, you COW! You're just trying to get rid of me for when your precious boyfriend is here! If my father were alive he'd let me do whatever I wanted! I HATE you!"   
  
"Oh dear, look at the time," Mrs Weasley said, grabbing Smith by the elbow and snapping at Ron to pick up his fallen rucksack. To Harry's amazement he obeyed with no argument and hurried after his mother as she scurried to the fireplace, still dragging Smith with her. "We'd better be off! You first, Zacharias!" she said, holding out their bowl of floo powder and forcing him to grab a handful before practically shoving him into the grate.   
  
"I hate you, Mother," Zacharias said coldly, before throwing the powder down and calling out, "the Burrow."   
  
Mrs Weasley laughed nervously and shoved Harry and Ron in at once. "If you boys hold hands you can go together. _So hold each other's hand_." Neither Harry nor Ron protested, each grabbing the other's hand as Ron took the powder his mother offered him and said, "The Burrow." But as the two boys spun round and round through the grates, they found they had to nearly hug each other just to squeeze through. Harry was never more thankful that both he and Ron were fairly slim.   
  
With a definite thud, they fell onto the Weasley hearth, each still clinging to the other as they looked up to find Zacharias Smith leering down at them.   
  
"Shall I give you two love birds some alone time?"   
  
Harry blushed and promptly released Ron, getting up fast and brushing soot from his clothes. A second later, Mrs Weasley popped into the room, her face flushed and her orange hair mussed around her face.   
  
"Well!" she said, sounding a little out of breath. "How about a little something to eat? Hmm? Why don't you boys go get washed up, and Ron, you can show Harry and Zacharias to their room."   
  
"I'm not hungry," Zacharias said stubbornly. Ron growled in response as though it was a mortal insult to his mother. Harry wondered if he should be holding Ron back from attacking Smith; he seemed awfully red and he could tell his hands were tight fists inside the pockets of his trousers.   
  
Smith, however, looked just as angry, if not more. Although he didn't show it as much, Harry could tell the blond boy did _not_ want to be there any more than Ron did.   
  
"I'm not showing _him_ anywhere!" Ron yelled, his hands flying out of his pockets wildly.   
  
"FINE!" Mrs Weasley yelled. "Then you show Harry where he's sleeping, and Zacharias, you just follow them! As though I don't have enough work to do in this house without you acting like a spoilt brat, Ronald! GO!"   
  
Ron growled and began to trudge up the stairs. "C'mon, Harry." Harry followed quietly behind Ron, feeling very uncomfortable about everything that had just happened and the state of affairs to come. When Harry came to The Burrow, he usually felt very relaxed and happy. The fact that Harry's summer had been another dreadful one made the idea of going to the Burrow sound even better, and Harry really just wanted some time alone with his friends. Now he had to spend an uncomfortable week sleeping next to Smith, and trying to keep Ron and him from throwing swings at each other.  
  
Smith didn't say a word as he ascended the stairs, Ron taking two at a time, and Harry trying to keep up with those long legs Ron had. Smith, however, was even taller, and Harry kept like the book between two really angry bookends. Harry expected to go all the way to the top, but they stopped at the door of Percy's old room.  
  
"Er, Harry, this is where you and... and... You-Know-Who have to sleep. Sorry, mate. Not enough space in my room, plus Mum said we had a spare bedroom and all..."   
  
"Oh, okay," Harry replied, looking sadly into Percy's room. It wasn't that he really liked spending the night in Ron's room, but at the same time he knew it wouldn't be the same. Nothing would ever be the same, and now he had to share a room with Smith. Zacharias Smith. He wanted to be with Ron, he wanted to tell jokes and laugh all night until the sun rose and they went down to eat a sleepy breakfast together.   
  
Smith pushed his way past Harry and strode into the room, setting his things on the bed and looking around the disturbingly neat room with a scowl. "One bed? You expect me to share a bed with _Potter_?"  
  
Harry decided this was going to be a long week.   
  
* * *  
  
"You're already in bed?"   
  
"What's it to you?"   
  
"Nothing," Harry replied, staring at the small bed as he adjusted the hem of his t-shirt. There were some things in this world that just didn't seem fair, and this was one of them. Zacharias had been an annoying git all day long. And Ron and Smith had fought so hard that by the time dinner ended both boys had been sent to their rooms with no hope of coming out before breakfast the following morning.   
  
Harry had stayed downstairs for a while, helping Mrs Weasley clean up the kitchen, but after an hour or so got bored and decided to go check on Ron. Unfortunately, the exertions and hatred of the day had left Ron exhausted and the redhead had fallen asleep more quickly than Harry would have liked. So, he was left to spend time with Smith. It was his last choice, but better than nothing.   
  
Even that, however, turned out to be a let down, as Harry found Smith lying angrily in bed with one of Percy's old books shoved under his nose. The whole scene left Harry feeling strange, but he decided he'd have to cope with it and just try and get some sleep.  
  
Harry grabbed for his bag and pulled out his pajamas, bundling them in his arms and starting to step out to the bathroom.  
  
"Where are you going?" Smith asked grumpily from behind his book.   
  
"To change," Harry replied shortly.   
  
"Mrs Weasley's taking a bath in that bathroom, Ginny's taking a shower in the one downstairs and Mr Weasley is working on a de-clogging spell in the other one."   
  
Harry sighed. "Well, go outside so I can change then!" Harry said, his anger finally getting the better of him. Why did Smith have to be so sulky, so stubborn and annoying? Couldn't he act like a normal person?   
  
"No. I'm in bed. You go to _boarding_ school, Potter. What's with this modesty? It's not as though I'm _looking_. Ugh. You're such a bloody Gryffindor."   
  
Harry glared at the blond boy, whose face never left the book he was reading, and quickly began to unbutton his trousers. It wasn't that he was being modest, he just-- it felt weird to get naked in front of Smith. Wasn't it the right thing to do to go change somewhere else? Why did Smith have to make everyone so uncomfortable?!   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, as he jammed his left leg into his pajama trousers.   
  
"What?" Smith finally peered up from around his book as Harry hurriedly pulled his pants over his bottom. Harry blushed furiously, but turned to face the wall as he peeled off his shirtand replaced it with the striped thin cotton material of his pajama top.   
  
"What's it supposed to mean that I'm 'such a bloody Gryffindor'?"  
  
"Nothing," he replied once Harry turned back around.   
  
"Great."   
  
Harry realized that he'd have to hold in the anger. He couldn't be like Ron, this wasn't his house, and as much as he wished it, Mrs Weasley wasn't his mother. He wished he could be in Ron's room, talking with the animated redhead about the past months and about the upcoming school year. He even missed Ron's loud snoring and smelly feet and listening as Ron talked in his sleep, occasionally waking himself up and then asking Harry why he was talking to himself in the middle of the night.   
  
But he was here, now, and he had to deal with the situation as best he could. Harry took a long calming breath, and walked over to the small bed. Head to toe,_ that_ was the way to share a bed, especially with Smith. It was the only way he'd get a little privacy. It was different when he shared a bed with Ron, they didn't need to sleep head to toe. There was no point anymore, they'd both shared so much, and plus Harry liked being close to Ron. It was comforting. He just hoped Ron didn't know that.  
  
  
Harry flicked off the light quickly, before asking Smith if he was done with his—no, _Percy's_ book-- and walked to the small bed.   
  
"Shove over," Harry said, and for once Smith complied. The bed groaned as the blonde's long form made room. Harry leaned over and grabbed the pillow that was currently under his feet, and shoved it, under his head, and then turned to face away from Smith.   
  
Minutes began to drift, and soon Harry was lost in that mysterious place between sleep and consciousness, Smith's steady breaths beside him seeming a sort of lullaby.   
  
"Potter?" he heard as Smith's curiously hot breath floated across his un-blanketed feet.   
  
"Hmm?" Harry replied.   
  
"You hate me, right?"   
  
"M'hm," Harry grunted sleepily. What was Smith playing at? It was the middle of the night, it wasn't the time for soul searching discussions. Plus, Smith didn't really care whether Harry hated him or not. Harry didn't even _really_ hate him. He just-- well, the boy had a few character flaws that Harry found particularly annoying. Also, Ron wasn't very fond of him, and despite himself that played a big part in the way Harry felt toward Smith. After all, Ron was his best friend. They were supposed to hate the same people, weren't they?  
  
A few minutes of silence, and Harry thought the conversation was over; which was good, since he didn't think he was going to be able to carry on an in-depth conversation.   
  
"Harry?"   
  
"Hm?"   
  
"Will you..." he trailed off. "Will you... will you sleep up here?"   
  
Harry was instantly sobered. His eyes opened wide, and his heart began to pound in the cavity of his chest. Why would Smith want him to sleep up there? Why? Why?   
  
"Why?!" Harry all but yelled.   
  
"I dunno, I guess you don't have to. I just, I dunno..."  
  
"I g-guess I could. But only 'cause your feet smell." Harry swallowed thickly, and rearranged himself in the bed, allowing a small amount of distance between the two of them, and chastely placing a pillow between their bodies. Harry could smell Smith from where he was and, despite himself, inhaled deeply, the blonde's orange flavored shampoo and the scent of his skin washing over Harry in waves. He turned again to face the wall, but could feel the other boy's sticky breath across the back of his neck.   
  
"Do you hate me?" Smith whispered, his face inches from the sensitive skin at Harry's nape.   
  
"No... Why?" Harry whispered back. It was becoming increasingly hard to dislike Smith, especially when the boy was so close that pieces of Harry's black hair fluttered as Smith talked in breathy whispers.  
  
"You just don't seem like you like me. I mean, you're not even facing me."   
  
"Wh-why would I face you?" Harry whispered back, his body completely frozen.  
  
"Because... because I want to kiss you."   
  
"Oh." Harry was paralyzed with fear, and somewhere a bit deeper, lust. He'd never felt this way before, not even with Cho, and not even with Ron, who had never hinted at anything this way before. Smith was telling Harry that he liked him. Was that even normal? What was Harry supposed to say? He couldn't kiss the tall, handsome blond boy. It wasn't right. It wasn't right.   
  
He turned around to tell him this, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Smith was there, his face pressed to Harry's, his smooth lips covering Harry's open mouth. And for a moment Harry couldn't think straight, for a moment he couldn't even breathe and had no desire to. For a moment he was sure the world was crashing around him, but he didn't really care. All that seemed to matter was the way that he felt, the way that everything around him seemed to fade away and that all he could really feel was his mouth and the mouth being pressed against his.   
  
"Wait," Harry panted, pushing Smith away. "Wait, wait, wait. Wait. I-- Wait. What are you doing? Why-- why did you do that? What made you think that-- I don't-- and you-- and, and Ron! I-- what?"   
Smith had the look of a boy whose puppy had died, his blond hair dangling in front of his glassy-looking eyes, as his mouth set in a kind of pouting, pathetic frown that Harry had a strong desire to kiss away. Well, if he desired those kind of things, which he certainly did not. Well, at least he didn't think he did.  
  
"I'm sorry. I--I'm sorry. Don't hate me, please. I, I thought maybe you liked me, or something. I thought-- that was stupid. You're, you're with Weasley right?"  
  
Harry's head spun. "What do you mean 'with' Ron?"   
  
"Well, you know. The two of you are, er, lovers." He looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt.  
  
"WHAT?" Harry yelled.   
  
"Shh! You'll wake everyone up!"   
  
"What?" Harry repeated in a loud whisper. "Lovers? No, we are not lovers."   
  
"Oh... Then you just don't like me?"   
  
Harry groaned, and sat up in bed, looking down onto Smith's smooth skin lit by the silver moonlight that shone from the window. "No, er, I never said that. I-- I like you just fine, Smith. I jus--"   
  
"Then kiss me," he interrupted.   
  
"What? No, no! I--"   
  
"Don't be so fucking afraid. You're The Boy Who Lived, and you're too scared to kiss me? I know you want to. I fucking felt you. You liked it, didn't you?"   
  
"No." Harry tried not to stammer, but he was pretty sure he did like kissing Zacharias. He was pretty sure he'd never felt like that before. And he was pretty sure he wanted to kiss the blond again, to lick the inside of his mouth, to taste his smooth skin, and run his fingers through that soft hair.  
  
"Fine, fucking coward," Smith said, glaring up at Harry, who was still staring down into Zach's infinitely aqua-colored eyes. "Like a Gryffindor to the end. You're all so bloody brave, aren't you? You're all so bloody brave except when it comes to something like this; something that your friends will make fun of you for; something that will make you less of a macho, pig headed_ Gryffie_." He said this last word with intense disdain, his eyes narrowing into deadly slits.  
  
If this was how Smith intended to woo Harry, he was more than a bit off. But at least the conversation was moving into territories that Harry could understand, and argue about.   
  
"I'm not a coward," Harry replied, trying to remain calm. He'd never been called anything like that in his entire life. What was Smith going on about? He was no coward. "Did you ever think that maybe I don't _want_ to kiss you, Smith?"  
  
"Well, is that what it is? Do you not like me? You can't tell me you don't fancy blokes, though, Potter. I know you do. I may not be as close to you as that block of wood, Weasley, but I've got eyes."   
  
Harry could feel sweat begin to form at his temples and at his hairline. He could feel his body begin to tense. He'd never thought too much about liking other boys. He'd always pushed it to the back of his mind, and continued on with life. There was no use in thinking about it, because it wouldn't happen. There weren't other people like him, he was alone in these feelings, and he'd have to get over it. He never thought he could be a--even thinking the word made him sweat-- queer.  
  
"Are you going to answer me? Or just sit there like a slab of meat? Answer me, Po--umph."  
  
There was a blur, a rage so intense filled Harry and though he wanted to hex Smith, or punch him hard in his overly tight stomach, he was instead on him, straddling his long body as he viciously kissed Zacharias' smooth, hot lips. Everything he felt was being translated into this insistent kiss, and Zacharias kissed with just as much intensity in return. He pressed his tongue into Harry's mouth, and battled for control. And it felt wonderful, and it felt strange, but above all it made Harry want more.   
  
"Fuck, Potter," Smith moaned as Harry began kissing his neck, licking the smooth skin of his throat, and then lightly biting it. It was intense, and incredible, and the way Zacharias said his name, and pulled Harry's hair. It felt incredibly perfect, and exciting, and nervous. He could feel Smith trembling against him, could even hear the boys erratic heartbeat pressed to his. And through all the nervousness, through all the feelings of doubt, Harry wanted it to last forever.   
  
"Harry?" a nervous voice asked from out of the darkness. "Are you guys asleep?"   
  
The two boys pulled away from each other with a smack of lips, Harry trying to get so far away from Zacharias that he fell loudly to the floor. Immediately the light turned on.  
  
"Did that prat kick you out of bed, Harry?" Ron said, rushing over to help Harry from the ground, though Harry rather wished he wouldn't. The idea of Ron seeing him _aroused_ made him want to hide under the bed.   
  
"No, I just fell, Ron." He groaned and hoisted himself up so that he now sat cross-legged, staring up at Ron. "Er, what's up, then?"   
  
Ron looked bashfully at his socks, where one toe peeked out from a tiny hole. "I just, I dunno, got bored I guess."  
  
"Look, Weasley, we're just sleeping, so if you'll kindly sod off, I need my beauty rest."   
  
"Ha, you'll have to sleep a lot longer than eight hours to help out with _that_ ugly mug, Smith," Ron retorted.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes. Although he had wanted Ron to be there before, now he sorely wished he'd go away. At least so he could talk with Smith, figure out what was happening between them, or if there even _was_ anything happening between them. Maybe he was just exaggerating; maybe Smith didn't want anything more than what had happened. Besides, what did _more_ even mean? Was there more?   
  
"Ron, just shut the door. You'll wake up the whole house," Harry said, now sitting on the bed so there was more room for Ron in the cramped space.   
  
Ron came in and shut the door behind him.   
  
"Ugh," Zacharias groaned. "What is this, a slumber party? Can't we just go to bed, please?"  
  
"Alright!" Ron said cheerfully, plopping down on the floor and wedging himself between a pile of books and the door. "Toss me a pillow, Harry!"  
  
Harry laughed, but complied, and in a few moments the room was again dark and quiet. Ron's breaths became a low rumble, and Harry was almost certain he was asleep. Ron was acting rather strangely, almost as if he were jealous of Smith. Like he knew something was happening between the two of them, and he didn't like it. If it was possible, he seemed to hate Zacharias more than ever.  
  
Harry closed his eyes tightly, and tried to sleep. There was no point in worrying about this now.   
  
He and Zacharias were laying head to toe, yet again, but neither boy was asleep. Harry could feel the blonde shift uncomfortably next to him, and wanted nothing more than to feel their lips pressed together again. Harry flexed his feet, which were free of the blankets, and gasped slightly as he felt Zacharias' mouth close over his big toe. The boys tongue swept across the incredibly sensitive flesh, and then kissed it quietly.  
  
"Come back up here," he whispered, a smile evident in his speech.   
  
Harry couldn't help but smile, too. "What about Ron?"   
  
"Who cares," Smith replied, tickling the bottom of Harry's foot. "Just come up here. I'm cold."   
  
Harry smirked and turned around in the bed, Zacharias' arm now placed underneath his neck, as his free hand pet slow circles over Harry's thin T-Shirt. Harry kissed Zach's neck, and whispered into his ear, "We can't do anything more tonight, I mean, you know, Ron and everything."  
  
"That's okay," Zach replied, turning to kiss the end of Harry's nose. "We have all week."   
  



End file.
